


Song and dance

by nieded



Series: Good Omens Prompt Fills [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, March Flash Fiction, Post-Apocalypse, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29958369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nieded/pseuds/nieded
Summary: Written for the March Flash Fiction prompt: "Here are some cookies and some very bad news."In which Aziraphale convinces Crowley to take a trip with him. He's not above using every tactic he can.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Prompt Fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170071
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Song and dance

“So, ah,” Aziraphale said, plopping a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies on the table. As far as baked goods went, it was a rather basic affair. Anyone and their uncle could flip over the back of a Tollhouse package and read the instructions off the label, but Crowley could smell the angelic touch oozing out of every morsel of chocolate. These weren’t just chocolate chip cookies; they were _divine._

With one tentative finger, Crowley poked at the food item. It depressed under his finger with a satisfying mush while still maintaining a crisp outer layer. He looked up at the angel. “All right, I’ll bite. What’s the occasion?”

Aziraphale wrung his hands. “Can’t I simply treat you, my dear?”

Oh ho, so that’s how it would be. Crowley assessed the display in front of him. Pet names and baked goods, the angel wanted something that would be at the direct expense of the demon. He crossed his arms and sniffed. “I don’t eat cookies.” 

Aziraphale’s smile faltered, pulled tight around the edges. With a flutter, he caved, plopping down on a chair across from his husband and folded his hands on the table, eyes wide. “I have some bad news.”

Crowley’s brows furrowed. “So you’re sweetening the news with baked goods.”

“Oh no.” The angel shook his head and let out a nervous laugh, waving at the display on the table. “Rather, I needed a—uh—distraction while I waited for you to return from your trip to London.” 

With a snort, Crowley felt instantly fond. Of course, give the angel something to fret about, and he’d take his frustration out on the flour. The cookies were perfect, chocolatey round disks, golden around the edges and soft in the middle. They were magazine-worthy. The problem couldn’t be too bad if he bothered with this much detail. If it were a red-level catastrophe, Aziraphale would have busted out the sourdough and kneaded by hand, his muscular forearms beating the gluten into submission, working the dough until it stretched between his palms. He would have rolled up his sleeves and wiped his hands on his vest, apron be damned. Crowley imagined Aziraphale rubbing off sweat with the back of his hand, a smear of flour left behind on his forehead, a sheen to his skin and a red flush of exertion dipping beneath his collarbones under his unbuttoned shirt—

Crowley cleared his throat and blinked, a bit distracted. He worked visibly to bring his brain back on track. Right. Chocolate chip cookies were simple, indicating a simple problem. “Whatever it is, angel, I can help.” 

Aziraphale sighed, a blissful smile crossing his face. “Oh, thank you.” Crowley swallowed, steadily veering off course again. “But don’t be too sure before I’ve explained everything. I need you to help me acquire a book.”

“How hard could that be?” Then, on second thought, the demon asked, “Er, it’s not a book of prophecy, is it? I thought we were done with that bollocks.” 

“Oh, no. It’s an anthology about demon physiology. I’m trying to gather as many resources as possible for the eventual second reckoning between Heaven and Hell. But I’m afraid if I touch it, I may discorporate.”

“You _what?"_

“And it’s in Greenland.” Aziraphale pushed the plate closer with a finger. “Have a cookie, dear.”

Crowley didn’t know much about Greenland except that it was January. He’d been there exactly one time in the winter and vowed never to go back. He and the Arctic Circle were proper enemies. “I can’t go there,” he said, his pitch escalating. “Did you know they don’t have a single species of snake? What sort of dark voodoo magic is that?”

“For one, voodoo isn’t real. And two, you love voodoo.” Aziraphale picked up a cookie and inspected it, turning it in his hands. Satisfied that it was baked to perfection, he sighed and took a bite. The chocolate broke off in gooey strings, still warm in the center. It was obscene. Then he turned the full force of his arsenal on Crowley, eyes wide with rosy, flushed cheeks. “Please?” 

The tension hung in the air despite both of them knowing how this would end. “Fine,” Crowley said just as the angel let out an immense sigh of relief. “You’re buying me a parka, gloves, _and_ mittens, and those big fluffy boots with the sheep’s-wool liner.”

Money was no matter to them. Aziraphale beamed. “I’ll even buy you a hat with flaps.”

“Please don’t.” 

“Oh! And a nice tartan scarf. We’ll get you those nice wool long johns—” 

_Long johns?_ Crowley mouthed.

“—and some nice goggles for the wind. That’s settled then.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and a pile of winter gear manifested in a heap in their cottage entryway. 

Crowley leaned off his chair to peer around the angel’s chair. “Tell me that’s not a dog sled. _And snowshoes?_ Where the hell—heav—heck is this book?” 

“Well, as you now know, it’s a very rare artifact, very well protected. And what better security is there than the natural elements?” 

That was rich coming from a man-shaped being who would rather be stowed away in their dusty cottage library on the sunniest of England’s summer coastal days. Crowley wasn’t even sure how the library became so dusty and grimy in the scant six months they’ve lived together. It was under a spell. With a scoff, he slid out of the chair to investigate the materialized goods, prodding at a pair of hiking poles with his foot. “I deserve a hot toddy the second we touch down.”

“I’ll do you better,” Aziraphale said cheerily. “Hot toddies for when we land in Kangerlussuaq and a flask of Laphroaig for the charter flight.” 

“The charter flight?” Crowley was beyond caring about the volume and pitch of his voice. He hated planes. It was unnatural for two creatures capable of flight to get on a rickety six-seater, though the thought of _flying_ to Greenland sounded worse. “Can’t we just take the phone lines?” 

“My dearest, there are no phone lines or cellular towers where we are going. The best we can hope for is a walkie-talkie.” 

“Bugger,” Crowley said with a groan. 

“If that sweetens the deal, then I consent.” 

He turned to glare at the angel but froze when he saw the smirk on his face, one hand resting on his pocket watch, the other holding a cookie with two dainty fingers. He was positively impish. Crowley didn’t know when exasperation and arousal had become one and the same, but it seemed the more infuriating the angel was, the crazier it drove him. 

Aziraphale flipped open his watch and tsked. “We have an hour before we need to make it to Heathrow.” 

“An hour!” 

“So you’d better get upstairs if we’re going to make the most of our time.” He crossed the length of the floor from their kitchen to the foyer in several quick steps and grabbed Crowley’s silver scarf in a fist. He pulled the demon close. “I’ll make sure you stay plenty hot.”

“Corny.”

“Or horny?” He glanced down at Crowley’s pelvis where things had taken a decided interest in the turn of events. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

Crowley grumbled and tugged free of Aziraphale’s grasp, stomping upstairs as he threw the scarf over his head, followed by his shirt. He had one hand on the button of his trousers as he muttered, “Not yet.” He meant to get the most out of this trip, and he was just getting started. “Bloody Greenland.”

Behind him, Aziraphale waggled his fingers happily, a little jaunt in his step. He snagged one more cookie before turning towards the stairs.

“Just bring the plate with you!” Crowley shouted from the bedroom. 

With a flick of his hand, the rest of the sweets were wrapped. He sent them floating to their gear in the entryway where they could wait, paired with a nice shot of whisky. After all, he had an hour to convince his demon of his mission, and he meant to do so thoroughly. 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes and References:
> 
> This was written for the March Flash Fiction event hosted by [ @kedreeva](https://kedreeva.tumblr.com/post/645193571564126208/the-seventh-march-flash-fiction-prompt-is-heres) on tumblr. I'll probably continue to do 1-2 of these a week through the month as a writing exercise. 
> 
> I just wanted to write some established relationship fluff so here is some mush. I just love the idea of Aziraphale intentionally riling Crowley up. You know he had this trip planned for at least a week but waited until the last minute to drop the news.


End file.
